


For the Captain

by toyhto



Series: In the Shadows [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Nothing really matters when you’re going to die.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Captain Flint | James McGraw
Series: In the Shadows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978000
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	For the Captain

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set during the beginning of Season 3, when they're stuck in the Sargasso Sea.
> 
> Also, this is my 200th fic on A03. I don't know what I'm doing with my free time.

Captain Flint is a man who does whatever fuck he wants. Captain Flint is a man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. Captain Flint is a man who thinks everyone else will follow him through anything. Captain Flint is… apparently right about that, which doesn’t make sense at all. They should’ve stopped following Captain Flint a long time ago. _Billy_ should have stopped following the captain. But here he is. And -  
  
Oh, _shit._ Captain Flint is awake.  
  
“We aren’t moving,” the captain says, looking at him. He stands up. He’s been sitting here for… he doesn’t know how long exactly. It’s not like there’s much happening at the moment anyway. He told himself that he’d stay for a minute, just to keep an eye on the captain. In case Flint might need help. But Flint was asleep, and Billy sat down in the chair a few feet away and then for some fucking reason didn’t leave, and now he’s been here for hours, watching Flint. Not that there’s anything weird about that. He’s just making sure the captain is alright.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says slowly.  
  
Billy tells him about the situation: no wind, no food, no water. Flint stares at him as if he thinks Billy might be making it up, then lets out an unhappy breath, then tries to get on his feet and staggers. Billy grabs the captain’s elbow. Flint leans against him for a second before pushing him away.  
  
  
**  
  
  
There must be some kind of doubt. After all the things Flint has put the crew through, after all the men they have lost, it’s just not possible that Flint would never doubt himself. But he hides it so well. Even now, when they’re stuck in the Sargasso Sea and he has to realise there’s a very real possibility they’re all going to die, he hides it. He’s sweating through his clothes and stands up like a cornered animal preparing for a fight, but still he looks Billy straight in the eyes with all the confidence he ever had. It’s mad. It’s fascinating. It makes Billy want to stay here, looking in the captain’s eyes, instead of getting back on the deck and seeing the quiet hopelessness in everyone else’s.  
  
It’s kind of funny. Silver is questioning the captain’s decisions, seems angrier every day, and Billy feels like he’s standing in between. It’s funny how he always ends up defending Flint, even though he of all people shouldn’t have a reason to. It’s funny how sometimes Flint glances at him and he flinches and remembers falling into the sea. He was trying to hold onto Flint’s hand then. He should be disappointed in Flint. He shouldn’t trust Flint. And he doesn’t, he really doesn’t, and still he seems to follow Flint anywhere.  
  
He tells Silver to keep his head together. He tells himself that if Flint slips, he’s going to challenge the captain. He’s not going to just step back and watch. He’s not going to lie for Flint again. But the days go by, and everything gets worse, and he wonders how Flint can hide the despair from his voice when he talks to the men. Sometimes he lets it slip when there’s only the three of them: Billy, Silver, and the captain. Or maybe he doesn’t mean it. Maybe the thirst and the hunger and heat are affecting him, too. And isn’t that fucking frightening, because if Flint loses his mind, then they all are certainly dead.  
  
“What?” Flint asks, his hoarse voice and his eyes on Billy.  
  
Billy blinks. Through the door, he can hear the sound of Silver’s uneven steps on the deck. Silver left the captain’s cabinet, but Billy is still here and doesn’t know why the fuck. “Nothing,” he says. He feels like he’s swaying, even though the ship is perfectly still. Must be the dehydration.  
  
He expects Flint to tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t have a reason to be here. They don’t have anything to discuss. He doesn’t know what Flint does when he’s alone in his cabinet – probably reads his books. But at least he sure as hell doesn’t look like he wants Billy’s company, no, he looks like…  
  
“Are you alright?” Flint asks, watching Billy with narrowed eyes. Then he leans his palm against the table as if for support and leans towards Billy. He looks so much bigger when he’s not so close. From this close he’s just… small.  
  
“Yeah,” Billy says, can hear himself talking but doesn’t really understand why. “Or… you know.”  
  
“Yeah,” Flint says, grimacing. “It’s going to get worse.”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“All this,” Flint says, making a vague gesture between them. Billy stares at his hand. “The dehydration. The effects of it.”  
  
_Oh._ “Oh,” Billy says.  
  
Flint is watching him as if trying to calculate something. “You should probably go. I’m not good company.”  
  
Billy stares back at the captain for a few seconds, then catches himself and leaves.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The next time it happens, the captain doesn’t even seem to notice that Billy’s lingering. Silver gets out of the captain’s cabin, angry and scared, and the captain sits down behind his deck and rests both his palms on the table as if otherwise he might slip from the chair and fall onto the floor. He looks tired, too. They’re all tired. And Billy hovers in the middle of the room, looks at the door and then turns back to the captain.  
  
“We’ve got to keep an eye on him,” the captain says, staring at the door. He doesn’t sound like he sounded a minute ago, confident and stubborn.  
  
Billy clears his throat. “We’re keeping an eye on you, you know.”  
  
Flint blinks and finally looks at him. He’s not sure if Flint looked straight at him even once during the meeting they just had. He supposed Flint was looking Silver in the eyes, and that makes sense. The captain needs to convince Silver. Billy’s not that important. Or maybe the captain wasn’t really looking at either of them. “That so?” the captain says in a blank voice.  
  
Billy nods. “Yeah.”  
  
“Well,” the captain says, clenching and unclenching his fists on the table, “I guess that’s your job.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m not worried about you, though. You’re a sensible man.”  
  
“I’m really not,” Billy says and then bites his lip.  
  
The captain takes a deep breath. It sounds a lot like a sigh. “Sure. Because you’ve got your reasons not to trust me.”  
  
“Yeah,” Billy says. His heart is beating faster, which is bad. He’s thirsty and his head is giving him hell and he can’t see straight, and there’s no point wasting his energy on thinking about how he certainly doesn’t have a reason to trust Flint, and still here they are. “But here we are,” he says.  
  
The captain frowns at him. “Billy –“  
  
“I should go,” he says, turns around and leaves. On the deck, he walks to the railing and grabs it. It’s too warm here in the sunlight, he can’t really breathe, and his hands are shaking for whatever fucking reason. He’s a bloody fool for following the captain everywhere. But if they’re going to be dead in two weeks, that’s hardly going to matter.  
  
  
**  
  
  
After the next meeting with the captain, Billy watches Silver go, walks to the closest chair, sits down and closes his eyes.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says. He’s still standing.  
  
“Sorry,” Billy says, opening his eyes. He means to say that he doesn’t feel too good. He’s not going to _faint_ , of course not, it’s just that he didn’t feel steady on his feet anymore. And there’s nothing to do on the deck right now. And he can’t deal with Silver’s mistrust with the captain right now.  
  
But before he can figure out how to explain some of all this out loud, the captain frowns at him and shakes his head a little. “Everything alright?”  
  
He almost laughs, but his throat is too dry.  
  
“Yeah,” the captain says, watching him. He’s not so small when he’s the one standing and Billy’s sitting. “I guess not. Anything I can do?”  
  
Well, that’s funny. “Like what?”  
  
“Like…” The captain pauses and glances around. “Do you like books?”  
  
“Yeah,” Billy says slowly. “Yeah, I like books.”  
  
“Have you read St. Augustine?”  
  
He takes a deep breath. God, he wants _water._ And to get the hell out of here. And to know why the hell Flint is talking to him about books. As if he thinks Billy’s someone worth talking to. It’s not so long since he didn’t even know Billy’s name.  
  
“No,” Billy says. “I should go.”  
  
The captains seems a little surprised at that, or maybe Billy’s seeing things. But the captain nods, and Billy stands up and leaves the cabin, and outside, the sea is still endless, there’s no wind, and Silver looks like he wants to throw the captain over the railing. Nothing’s changed.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“Are you alright?” Billy asks the captain after their next meeting. The door’s closed, he’s still in the captain’s cabin, and he’s not even surprised.  
  
The captain glances sharply at him. “What?”  
  
“You,” he says, “are you alright? Because you don’t look like it.”  
  
The captain opens his mouth and then closes it again. He’s leaning against his desk with both hands, looking like it takes a lot of effort just to stay on his feet. He didn’t look like that a moment ago, when Silver was still there.  
  
“Because I kind of need you to be alright,” Billy says, not sure where he’s going from here, but he’s not slept a proper night in ages and he can’t _think._ “Because I’m defending you to Silver. I’m telling him that in this kind of a situation, we need to trust you as long as we possibly can.”  
  
“You’re right,” Flint says, not looking at him.  
  
“But you don’t exactly look like anyone should trust you.”  
  
Flint laughs out in a dry voice. “I don’t?”  
  
“You used to have her,” Billy says and then bites his lip, because what the fuck he’s saying, really? But he’s already started. “Your wife. You used to have her to talk to. And now you don’t have anyone.”  
  
“We weren’t married.”  
  
“Who the fuck cares. But, maybe you should talk to someone. If you aren’t alright, talk to someone. And not Silver.”  
  
“Because he’d have my head on a spike.”  
  
“No,” Billy says and takes a step towards the captain. Flint flinches and glances at him. “No, we wouldn’t put it on a spike. Come on.”  
  
“You mean,” Flint says slowly, “you mean that I should talk to _you._ ”  
  
“Or someone else.”  
  
“There’s no one else. Everyone is dead.”  
  
Billy swallows. “Then talk to me.”  
  
“You don’t want to hear me talking,” Flint says, but now his eyes are fixed on Billy. He looks curious. He looks like he thinks Billy doesn’t make sense and wants to catch him and find out what that is about. Billy doubts that’s even possible. _He_ doesn’t know what he’s saying.  
  
“I want to stay alive,” he says. “I need you to be sane to get us out of here alive.”  
  
“I don’t think talking’s going to help.”  
  
“It might,” he says and then takes a deep breath. “Then what? What would help?”  
  
Flint shakes his head.  
  
“You want to talk to me about St. Augustine?”  
  
There’s a weird look on Flint’s face. A little like a smile. A little. “No.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“I haven’t read anything from him,” Billy says. “You’d have to tell me who he is.”  
  
Flint nods and straightens his back. He looks impossibly tired, but he looks at Billy and walks to him around the table. For a second Billy thinks they are going to do this, he’s going to sit in that chair in the corner probably and Flint’s going to talk to him about books.  
  
But then Flint places a hand onto his shoulder, squeezes, and lets go.  
  
“You’re excused,” the captain says and takes a step back. “Go.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
Billy doesn’t think he’s ever hated the sea more than now. He stares at the horizon until his eyes hurt, and the captain walks to him and stops by him, grabs the railing and breathes in and out. He waits for another five seconds. To his knowledge the captain has never had any difficulties telling anyone what he wants of them, and wouldn’t it be funny if he started now. But another five seconds pass and the captain is still squinting at the endless horizon.  
  
“Makes me wonder if I’ve made wrong choices,” Billy says. The sun is spilling onto the waves, too bright to look at. “Since I ended up here.”  
  
“Hmm,” the captain says and glances down at his own hands. The skin seems dry and sunburnt.  
  
“What?” Billy asks, then swallows. But he’s too tired to be polite now. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” Flint says and fixes his eyes back on the sea. “You busy?”  
  
Billy almost laughs. “No.”  
  
“Okay,” the captain says.  
  
“Nothing to do here, really.”  
  
“Yeah,” the captain says, keeps quiet for a few seconds and then lets go of the railing. “It’s too hot to be on the deck. I’ll go back to my cabin.” But he doesn’t go. He grimaces at the sea and then glances at Billy, raises his sunburnt hand to shield his eyes from the sun and stares at Billy with an utterly unhappy look on his face. As if he wants Billy to jump into the sea or something. And then again, maybe not. Maybe not this time.  
  
Billy takes a deep breath and it feels like swallowing sand. “I’ll come with you.”  
  
Flint nods. He doesn’t look surprised, doesn’t look glad either, but when Billy follows him across the deck and to the stairs and down to his cabin, he doesn’t stop to tell Billy that he’s being an idiot. The captain doesn’t tell Billy that Billy doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing, that he’s disillusioned for thinking that the captain might be looking for his company, and what kind of company is he even thinking about, really? What kind? He can’t talk about books. He hasn’t read St. Augustine. He doesn’t even _like_ Flint, not that it matters, because this isn’t about liking anyone, certainly not, Flint doesn’t like _him_ , and still Flint waits at the door while he walks to the captain’s cabin and only stops when he’s at the captain’s desk. It doesn’t feel as if he’s just stopping by.  
  
He leans palm against the captain’s desk, runs his fingertips over the scratches on the wood. Flint closes the door.  
  
  
**  
  
  
What is he doing?  
  
He’s looking at the backs of the books on the captain’s shelf. In the captain’s cabin. He doesn’t know if he’s reading the titles or not. Maybe he’s trying. Flint hasn’t said anything so he hasn’t either, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been here, maybe two minutes, maybe five. Maybe fifteen. He can’t make himself remember for how long they’ve been stuck in the sea without wind either. He touches the back of one book and realises his hand is shaking.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says from behind his back. He’s not come any closer. “What’re you doing?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Billy says, his voice coming out thin. He can hear the captain breathing in. He clenches his fists and opens them again. His hands are sticky. Everything’s sticky and Captain Flint is a trap. Or an anchor. Or whatever. Oh, _shit,_ he can’t think -  
  
“If you’re looking for a friend,” the captain says, his voice too gentle for a man like that, “then maybe someone else would… Silver might be a better choice.”  
  
Billy tries to laugh but it comes out wrong. “If I’m looking for a _friend –_ “  
  
“What else?” the captain asks. It sounds like he’s really asking. Billy glances at him over his shoulder, but the captain is still standing next to the door.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
The captain frowns.  
  
“Do you want me to go?”  
  
“No,” Flint says. For a second Billy thinks the man’s about to smile, but it turns out something sour instead. “No, I don’t want you to go.”  
  
“Then what?”  
  
“ _Then what_ ,” Flint says, shaking his head. He stares at Billy for a few more seconds, then walks across the floor and stops in front of Billy. Somehow he doesn’t look so small right now. Maybe it’s because of the look in his eyes. He’s standing so close that Billy can smell the salt and the sweat and the old whiskey on him. Like this, he’s obviously just a man. And Billy should know that already. He’s seen the captain bleeding often enough. Just an ordinary man with something dark inside him and men to follow him when he tries to outrun it. “Let’s think,” the captain says and rests his palm on the bookshelf next to Billy’s left shoulder. “Let’s think I’m not your captain.”  
  
Billy tries to laugh, doesn’t remember how. The captain is leaning so close to him that if he comes any closer, he’s going to end up brushing his hips against Billy’s. And that’d be… that isn’t… that’s not what they’re doing here, he thinks. Or is it? Or _is it?_  
  
“If I’m not your captain,” the captain says and places his other hand flat on Billy’s chest. It weights a ton. “Then you can throw me off if you like. You’re stronger.”  
  
“I don’t know,” he says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I don’t know if I could throw you off.”  
  
“Of course you could. I’ve seen you fight.”  
  
“I’ve seen you fight.”  
  
“I’m telling you,” the captain says, “that you can fuck off. No need to explain.”  
  
“You locked the door.”  
  
“Not for your sake,” the captain says and pulls his hand away from Billy’s chest. Billy feels weightless. The captain pushes his hand into his pocket, takes the key and places it in Billy’s hand. The captain’s fingers are warm and damp. “You can go,” the captain says.  
  
Billy puts the key in his pocket. The captain is holding his wrist. He doesn’t know what the fuck for. He breathes in and out and wonders vaguely what his breathing smells like, but Flint doesn’t look like he wants to get away. He’s looking at Billy’s throat but Billy doesn’t know what he sees there, and then he starts undoing Billy’s trousers with his free hand.  
  
“Hey,” Billy says. He sounds like a surprised kid.  
  
“Just tell me to fuck off,” Flint says, doesn’t pause for a second, just tugs at Billy’s trousers and tightens his grip on Billy’s waist just a little. Maybe it’s a warning. Maybe Billy should tell him to fuck off. But the door is locked. Billy has the key. And this is his captain. The only person on this ship that he’s genuinely scared of. So, who the fuck cares? They’re going to be dead soon anyway.  
  
The captain pushes Billy’s hand down, helps Billy to get it into his own pants, covers Billy’s fingers with his own and wraps them over Billy’s cock.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
Billy nods.  
  
The captain tightens their grip and then tugs. Billy tries to stay quiet but can’t. He tries to breathe, Flint tugs again, he looks at Flint, Flint glances at him and then fixes his eyes back on his throat, looking focused and maybe a little concerned and as if Billy’s his task now.  
  
“Shouldn’t I –“ Billy says, then pauses, clears his throat, tries to think.  
  
“No,” the captain says. He grabs Billy’s free hand and raises it on his own shoulder. As if he thinks Billy needs support.  
  
“But I should… You aren’t…”  
  
“I’ll take care of myself later,” the captain says. “You can close your eyes.”  
  
Billy keeps his eyes open. “I can do it.”  
  
“You don’t need to.”  
  
“I can put my hand on your dick.”  
  
The captain flinches. It’s lovely.  
  
“I can,” Billy says, lowers his arm from where it was wrapped around Flint’s shoulders, and tugs at Flint’s trousers. Flint stares at him. He can’t stare back, but after a few seconds, Flint undoes his own trousers and doesn’t say a word when Billy pushes his hand in. Flint’s dick is smaller than his, and feels different, and he needs to lean down to get his fingers properly around it. It’s warm and damp and already harder than his, and leaking at the tip.  
  
The captain takes a sharp breath when Billy brushes his thumb over the tip.  
  
So, this is what they’re going to do. Billy pulls his other hand out of his own pants and grabs Flint’s shoulder with it, then realises it must be sticky, but Flint doesn’t seem to mind. Billy runs his fingertips on the bare skin on Flint’s chest where the shirt is hanging loosely from the captain’s shoulders. And he has a hand on the captain’s cock, and Flint’s fingers tighten around his and find a steady rhythm, and he’s making noises but what then, Flint’s making noises too. Flint glances at him and then looks away and then glances at him again, and he feels like Flint’s surprised to see him there, which is just stupid, because who else would do this for the captain? He bites his lip and tightens his grip and bucks into Flint’s fist, and when he comes, Flint puts a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him closer as if for a kiss. And then the captain comes too. The noise he makes sounds broken.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Everything is still. Billy’s sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the captain’s bookshelf. The captain is sitting on the floor a few feet away from him, watching him but not in the eyes. He tried to wipe his hand on the floor but his fingers are still sticky with the captain’s cum.  
  
“Do I need to apologise?” the captain asks.  
  
Billy closes his eyes for a second. He feels like he’s drowning. It’s not entirely bad. “You’re making it sound like you made me do it.”  
  
The captain doesn’t answer.  
  
“No. Don’t apologise.” He opens his eyes and looks at the captain. ”You’ve done that before.”  
  
The captain bites his lip.  
  
“I didn’t mean… I meant, you have… you and someone else have…”  
  
“Yeah,” the captain says. “I’ve done this before.”  
  
“With someone in the crew?”  
  
The captain shakes his head.  
  
“Good,” Billy says and clears his throat. “Because I don’t think you should. The men are… they’re a little scared of you. You shouldn’t ask anyone do this for you. Because they wouldn’t know how to say ‘no’.” He doesn’t like the way Flint is staring at him now, and still he lets it go on for a few more seconds that drag on forever. Then he says, “I know.”  
  
“You think?” the captain asks in a quiet voice.  
  
“Yeah. You said so too. I’m stronger than you.”  
  
“I don’t think I said _that_ ,” Flint says, but there’s a shadow of both a smile and concern on his face.  
  
“Sure you did. I’m stronger and I could just tell you to fuck off if I wanted.” Billy pauses and takes a deep breath. Oh, god, he’s tired, and he doesn’t know what he’s saying, and he’s sitting on the captain’s floor, his dick limp, the captain’s cum in his hand, and his head wrecked. “I’m going to fuck off now,” he says and stands up, stumbles and catches himself against the bookshelf.  
  
Flint just stares at him.  
  
“Just don’t tell anyone about me.”  
  
“Of course not,” Flint says.  
  
“I’m going to go now,” Billy says and, walks to the door and unlocks it. The captain hasn’t stood up yet. Billy throws the key at him and leaves.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Two days later, he goes back to the captain’s cabin. He shouldn’t. He doesn’t know why it matters but he shouldn’t anyway. But for two days he’s felt as if he’s trying not to step on something he can’t see. He can’t make himself look Flint in the eyes and he’s worried that Silver will notice. Or that Flint will notice. And of course Flint does.  
  
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Flint says now, when Billy walks into his cabin and closes the door behind himself.  
  
Billy opens his mouth and then closes it. Flint glances at him and walks to the door, locks it, walks back to his desk and puts the key on it. Billy doesn’t know where to look. He’s been trying not to catch Flint’s eyes for the past two days, and when he has, he’s felt that maybe Flint’s worried about him. Maybe Flint’s wondering if he can take it or not, worried about how he will react. Worried that what they did is going to break him somehow. And he wants to tell the captain that it’s not. It was just… just two men giving each other a little pleasure in a very difficult situation. Nothing really matters when you’re going to die.  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” he says to the captain, stops in the middle of the room and then just stands there. He can’t walk up to Flint. He can’t go back to the door. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or why he came here. He’s so thirsty he can’t think, hasn’t for some time now. That’s why he stays frozen while Flint walks to him with slow unsteady steps, stops in front of him, puts a hand on his shoulder and kisses him.  
  
He pulls away.  
  
“Sorry,” Flint says and takes a step back. He seems disoriented somehow. As if he’s lost something.  
  
Billy grabs his arm and stops him. He’s seen the captain fight often enough but now he thinks Flint might’ve actually been right the last time they talked. He could probably take the captain in a fight now. He’s bigger, he’s stronger, and he has a feeling he’s coping with dehydration better than the captain. He squeezes the captain’s arm. For a second the captain looks like he sees someone else in Billy’s place, then he blinks and it’s gone.  
  
“What,” the captain says in a thin voice.  
  
Billy takes the captain’s face in between his hands and kisses the man. It doesn’t feel much like kissing. It feels… as if he’s trying to prove something, he just doesn’t know what it is. The captain kisses him back, and he loses the track of whatever he thought was happening here. He can kiss the captain. Who cares. He can hold the captain’s face in his hands while the captain’s kissing him as if he’s someone who matters, someone to protect, someone else. He closes his eyes and keeps them closed when the captain tugs his trousers down his thighs and pushes a hand inside his pants. It doesn’t mean anything anyway. He swallows a moan before it can slip from him, and the captain tightens the grip on his cock.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says.  
  
At least the captain remembers his name now.  
  
Great.  
  
“Billy –“  
  
“What?” he asks, pulling back just enough that he’s not talking against Flint’s mouth.  
  
Flint’s hand on his dick stops. “Can I –“  
  
He fucks into the captain’s fist. It’s too loose. He kisses the captain.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says, his voice more demanding now, but he touches Billy’s shoulder tentatively as if he needs someone to keep him straight. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Can you _ask me something_ ,” Billy says. He sounds like he’s laughing. He doesn’t think he is. The captain has a hand on his dick and he wants to ask Billy something. “Sure.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” the captain says, his voice too flat. “If you don’t want to, you can just –“  
  
Billy kisses him. The captain tastes sour. He supposes he should’ve known that. But for some reason he never thought about what it would be like, to kiss Flint.  
  
“Your fingers,” the captain says. _Of course._ That makes sense.  
  
“Yeah,” Billy says and tugs open the captain’s trousers. Then he pushes his hand inside and fumbles the captain’s dick.  
  
“No,” the captain says, sounding impossibly tired suddenly, as if on the verge of giving up. He pulls back from Billy’s kisses and takes a deep shaking breath. “Not my dick.”  
  
“Not your dick?”  
  
The captains bites his lip. “No, I mean… that too. But…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Bed,” the captain says and grabs Billy’s wrist. Billy lets himself be pulled to the bed. For a moment he thinks the floor is moving underneath him but no, there’s no wind, they’re stuck in the sea. It’s just him following the captain to the bed and then watching as the captain climbs onto the bed and gets onto his knees. It doesn’t make sense. The captain tugs down his own trousers. Billy has seen his dick before. There’s no reason to stare. But he does, and wonders what the captain’s seeing on his face but can’t help it, and then the captain pulls him closer and places his hand on the small of the captain’s back. The skin there is scarred and damp with sweat. The captain is shaking.  
  
“If you want to,” the captain says and breathes in, “if you… I would… Your fingers. In my arse.”  
  
Billy blinks.  
  
“I shouldn’t ask,” the captain says, staring at him. “But –“  
  
“Sure,” he says. It’s as if someone else is speaking. He can hear his own voice but doesn’t taste the words in his mouth. He watches Flint’s throat jump as the man swallows, watches the frown on Flint’s face as he slides his hand down on Flint’s back, pushes between Flint’s cheeks, presses a fingertip against the spot that’s almost hot to touch. “Like this?”  
  
“Yeah,” Flint says, blinking at him. “Just, maybe… Can I just…” And he pulls Billy’s hand back, spits on Billy’s fingers before Billy can think anything of it, and then lets Billy find his way back. Billy climbs onto the bed next to him. It’s easier like this. He certainly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but the captain looks at him as if he’s doing it right, and he pushes his finger inside his captain to the first knuckle. Flint’s shaking all over.  
  
“It hurts,” Billy says.  
  
“No,” the captain says, and for fucking once Billy can tell that he’s lying. But he doesn’t tell Billy to stop. He shifts on the mattress until he’s facing the mattress, and Billy shifts with him, thinking about the ship, thinking about waves, thinking about the sea, the endless horizon, thinking about how they’re going to die here but he’s got Captain Flint in his hands, shaking as he pushes his finger deeper, and probably from pain. It seems mad that the captain is letting him do this.  
  
The captain calls his name and he wraps his hand around the captain’s dick again, doesn’t care that he can’t keep up the rhythm, doesn’t think about that he’s squeezing a bit too much, doesn’t think twice about kissing the captain’s back. He’s got his own dick pressing against the back of the captain’s thigh. He could get off like this. He crooks his finger in the captain’s arse because that’s what makes the captain tremble, and he fucks against the captain’s left thigh, and when he comes, it’s too sudden and doesn’t feel right. Flint’s dick is still hard and heavy in his hand and Flint’s arse is clutching around his finger.  
  
“You like this,” he says and kisses the back of Flint’s neck.  
  
“Come on,” Flint says in a hoarse voice. He doesn’t sound much of a human. “Come on, Billy. Come on.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Another finger,” Flint says. But he comes in Billy’s hand before Billy can squeeze another finger into him.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He doesn’t linger afterwards. He fastens his trousers, wipes his hands on the captain’s sheets and leaves. The captain doesn’t say anything to him. When he looks back from the door, he sees the captain sitting on the mattress, his head hanging low and his shoulders trembling. He looks as if someone fucked him and then left him in bed alone.  
  
The next time Billy sees the captain is that night. He’s lying on his back on the deck, watching the stars. He’s seen them so many times. He knows them by heart. He’s not going to miss them when he’s dead, of course not, because he’s going to be dead, and if he has any luck left, the death is going to be the end. He’s been trying not to think what it’s going to feel like to die from thirst, because what’s the point, maybe he’s going to know soon enough or not, and in either case he doesn’t want to know beforehand. He doesn’t -  
  
There’re footsteps approaching him. He looks at his side. Flint doesn’t look at him, not really, just stops a few feet away and hovers there as if the men around them aren’t confused to see the captain like that.  
  
“Captain,” Billy says and stands up on his feet. His sight blurs for a second. When he thinks he’s not going to faint, the captain’s already walking away from him with slow steps, as if it’s not obvious otherwise that he wants Billy to follow.  
  
In the captain’s cabin, Billy waits as the captain locks the door. Then he walks to the captain’s bed, sits down on the edge of the mattress and crosses his arms. The captain stares at him.  
  
“What?” he asks.  
  
The captain shakes his head. “Now you know.”  
  
“Now I know what?”  
  
The captain swallows.  
  
“Now I know what you want of me,” Billy says. “Okay.”  
  
The captain takes a deep breath and then smiles. He doesn’t look happy. But he’s meeting Billy’s eyes, and maybe he looks small and half-mad and as if he’s not slept in a month, but his gaze is steady. “It’s not all.”  
  
“Not all?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What else –“ _Fuck._  
  
“Yeah,” Flint says slowly, watching him.  
  
“You want me to –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You have to say it.”  
  
The captain looks at him for a few seconds. “I want you to fuck me.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
He's a man who’s fucking the captain. He closes his eyes when he pushes his dick past the ring of muscle in the captain’s hole. Flint is on his elbows and knees on his bed, breathing hard and sweating and shaking as if he’s going to fall onto his face, but he doesn’t, because Billy doesn’t let him, because Billy has his dick in the captain’s arse and his arm wrapped under the captain’s chest and for a few minutes, he’s strong enough for the two of them. He can keep the captain up on his knees. He can keep the captain from falling.  
  
And it turns out he can make the captain say things. He starts slowly because the captain’s impossibly tight and this must be hurting him. But the captain just tells Billy not to stop, which is absurd. Billy’s not going to _stop._ He wouldn’t know how to. He pushes into the captain until he feels he’s filling everything that can be filled and a little bit more, and the captain swears at him and says his name and tells him to keep doing it. There’s something about Flint that always makes him sound convincing, even if he’s not in the position to be so. It doesn’t make any sense. He tells Billy to fuck him, he tells Billy to take his cock, and he says _please_ even though Billy’s already trying. And then he comes in Billy’s hand with a groan and falls onto the mattress, and Billy falls with him, stumbles for leverage and fucks into him a few more times, until it’s over and he’s lying on his captain with his dick getting limp in his captain’s arse.  
  
“Pull it out,” the captain says, and he does.  
  
He rolls onto his back. He’s in the captain’s bed but Flint doesn’t tell him to fuck off so he doesn’t. He lies next to Flint and looks at the ceiling. Maybe he’s going to vomit. Or pass out. He feels like he's already dead.  
  
“It’s just fucking,” Flint says.  
  
Billy opens his mouth, closes it, and clears his throat. “I wasn’t… it’s just the dehydration.”  
  
Flint glances at him.  
  
“Really.” He’s quiet for a moment. “How was… how did I…”  
  
“Fine,” Flint says. “It was fine. You were good.”  
  
Billy nods. He feels like he’s made of stone.  
  
“It was very good, Billy,” Flint says, his voice quieter now. “Thanks.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re supposed to thank me,” Billy says, his voice coming out shaking.  
  
“I asked you and you did it.”  
  
“It wasn’t exactly…” Billy swallows. “It wasn’t hard.”  
  
Flint laughs in a tired sound.  
  
“Not the hardest thing you’ve made me do so far,” Billy says, and Flint stops laughing.  
  
They’re quiet for a long time. The ship is silent as a grave. Finally, Billy gets onto his feet, puts on his trousers and straightens his shirt, and leaves. He wonders if he’s walking funnily. He feels like he's wavering. He walks past Silver and Silver asks him what’s wrong, and he says ‘nothing’ and sees that Silver doesn’t believe him. But there’re so many things that are wrong. Silver can take his pick as many times as he likes and still never guess it right.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He doesn’t exactly mean it to happen again. But it does. He and Silver talk to the captain in the captain’s cabin. Silver is blaming the captain for ignoring the men – rightly so – and when the captain glances at Billy, the shock of it goes through his body so that he has to grab the back of a chair to stay steady on his feet. Silver doesn’t notice. Or maybe Silver’s blaming the condition they’re all in. How neat, because that’s what Billy’s blaming too. He stays behind when Silver leaves, and when Silver’s gone, he closes the door and waits.  
  
“Bed,” the captain says and it sounds both like a question and a promise. Of what, Billy doesn’t think about. He’s not doing this for himself. He’s just…  
  
He’s just pressing the captain down by the shoulders. The captain mutters something he can’t make sense of, but when he asks the captain to say it again, the captain falls quiet. Billy puts a hand on the captain’s hips and tugs him up, adjusts himself, then places the flat of his palm on the back of the captain’s neck. As if Flint needs comforting. He doesn’t, Billy knows that but can’t help himself.  
  
“Shh,” he says when he pushes his dick in.  
  
The captain says something incoherent. It might be an insult. Or might not. He starts fucking the captain. It’s good, it’s the only thing that makes him feel alive right now, even though a moment later he’s so exhausted he stumbles down against the captain’s back and they both fall onto the mattress. The captain swears at him, but it sounds like a cry, and he drapes his arm around the captains waist, grabs the captain’s cock and tries his best to shove his own dick at least a little bit further. He doesn’t manage it and he can’t breathe and he can’t move, but the captain comes anyway and then he does, too.  
  
Oh, god, he’s tired.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says when they’ve been lying on the mattress for a while. Billy’s still got his arm around the captain and his dick in the captain’s arse.  
  
“Yeah,” he says. His face is pressed against the back of the captain’s neck. Talking like this feels a lot like kissing. The captain’s skin tastes of salt and there’re a lot of freckles.  
  
“Billy –“  
  
“Right,” he says and pulls his dick out. The captain flinches. “Good?”  
  
Flint rolls onto his back and nods, his eyes closed. Billy watches him for a moment. There’s nothing extraordinary about him now. His dick is soft and small, his thighs are trembling a little, and the old scars on his skin don’t make him look tough, they just… make him look like he’s been hurt a lot.  
  
“What?” the captain says, his eyes still closed.  
  
“Nothing,” Billy says and gets out of the bed. He took all his clothes off for this for some reason, so he puts them back on and makes sure he doesn’t look like he feels. Then he leaves the cabin.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Flint says and then takes a sharp breath when Billy fucks into him. They’re standing against the bookshelf and Billy doesn’t know why. For some reason they didn’t make it to the bed this time. Flint has his elbows leaned against the shelf and Billy’s got his arm around Flint’s waist, trying to keep them both steady. “I don’t,” Flint says, “I don’t know. I can’t –“  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I can’t fix –“  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Billy says and fucks the captain harder. He knows. He knows Flint can’t fix this.  
  
They end up on the floor. Billy can’t stay on his feet and fuck Flint and keep Flint from falling, it’s just too much. But on the floor, they can do it. Flint’s lying on his side and Billy’s got his cock inside. He feels like he’s not even moving, but he must be because a scratch on the floor is digging into his hip. He means to get his hand on Flint’s dick, but Flint comes before he can manage it. He pulls out and jerks himself off, and then looks at the captain, who’s on the floor, a mess of limbs and sweat and cum and heavy breathing, a hand still on his own dick as if he doesn’t remember how to let go.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He feels like the ship is moving but it isn’t. He can’t remember how many days have passed. It doesn’t matter anyway. Once in a while he finds himself thinking that Captain Flint is going to fix this somehow. The captain is going to get them out of here. The captain is going to make another impossible thing possible.  
  
“Billy,” the captain says, digging his fingers into Billy’s shoulder. He’s trying to lower himself down on Billy’s cock. Billy’s lying flat on the mattress because that’s all he can do for now, and Flint certainly doesn’t look like he can do much more. His forehead is glistening with sweat and his eyes look like he’s been crying.  
  
They shouldn’t be doing this. They don’t have enough left in them. They’re exhausted already. It’s madness that they’re fucking here in the captain’s cabin when they can barely manage simple things like walking across the deck straight. They should stop. Surely the captain knows this. Surely he knows. Surely he…  
  
He shifts down on Billy’s dick a few more inches. His eyes are closed now, his mouth is open, he looks tired enough to pass out, he’s panting and he’s pretty. He’s pretty in a way that’s hard to comprehend. His eyelids flicker. He bites his lip and shifts on Billy’s dick, then grabs his own dick and starts jerking off. He’s trembling. Billy reaches to touch his back, runs his fingers down the captain’s skin, grabs the captain’s hips but can’t make himself do anything more. He just holds Flint while Flint finishes himself with a quiet groan. He looks so fucking tired.  
  
“Sorry,” Flint says, opening his eyes and looking at Billy. He pulls out and then falls onto the mattress next to Billy.  
  
“Don’t,” Billy says and then drops the rest. _Don’t worry._ That’s what he was going to say. _Don’t worry, it’s alright._ He wraps his own fingers around his dick. It feels pointless. He tugs a few times before Flint bats his hand away.  
  
“You’re a good man,” Flint says with his hand on Billy’s dick. He’s squeezing too much but Billy can’t bother to point that out. “You are. You shouldn’t have ended up here.”  
  
“No,” he says. “No one should. You shouldn’t either.”  
  
Flint stares at him.  
  
“You aren’t bad.”  
  
Flint laughs in a joyless voice and stops moving his hand. Billy covers it with his own. Together, they manage to finish him.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Flint tries to blow him. He sits on the edge of the mattress and runs his palm over Flint’s scalp, down the back of Flint’s neck, brushes his fingers against the line of Flint’s jaw, the freckled skin on Flint’s cheeks, tries the spot where he can feel his own dick meeting his fingers through Flint’s cheek. Flint is watching him. His mouth is wide open and his jaws are going to ache later, Billy thinks. And he probably doesn’t realise what he looks like. Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he’s doing this for Billy. Maybe he wants this image in Billy’s head. So that Billy will follow him anywhere.  
  
Billy only realises he’s gone limp in the captain’s mouth when the captain pulls back. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. The captain doesn’t say anything either, he only climbs onto the bed and lies down on his back next to Billy. He looks like he’s about to cry but he doesn’t.  
  
  
**  
  
  
This is how it’s going to end. This is how it’s going to end. This is how it’s going to end. This is how it’s going to end. This is -  
  
“Billy?”  
  
“What?”  
  
The captain stares at him.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Billy laughs out. “ _Nothing._ ”  
  
“You should hate me,” the captain says. He doesn’t look like a captain anymore.  
  
“Maybe I do.”  
  
For a second the captain looks hurt. As if there really is a way that Billy could hurt him. As if he hates the idea that Billy would only fuck him to… to… probably to shove his dick into something. Someone. Anyone.  
  
“I don’t,” Billy says and touches the captain’s wrist.  
  
  
**  
  
  
_This is how it’s going to end,_ he thinks. But it’s not.


End file.
